Leaf Schmeaf
by Luke In Blue
Summary: My very first LoTR fic. A one-shot. Nothing special really.


**Leaf Schmeaf (I don't got a title for it, actually ^_^;;; Any ideas?)**  
  
**By:** Fala fool of a Tzipori T.  
  
**Written:** October, 2003  
**Genre:** General, potential shonen-ai  
**Pairings:** Sam/Frodo (though only potentially so -_-)  
**Warnings:** Hobbit-shipping is hinted at. Not that that's a bad thing ^_-  
**Plot:** They're walking together on a trail echanging discourse and thinking to themselves. No plot really. I'm bad like that -_-  
**Spoilers:** Nopey-dopey  
**Dedications:** Um, dedicated to Tolkien, I guess. Let's just hope he's not watching over me now... whilst shaking his fist and shouting choice words from where he is now ^_^;;;  
**Other comments/schtuff:** I think Frodo and Sam would make the cutest little pair, given the bond that's already established between them. However, this is my first LoTR ficcy, so I have to start small. After I've had a bit more practice, I'll try for a full-fledged shonen-ai fic about them.... Maybe. If you all want me to ::hint: review please!:: ^_^  
  
  


**Untitled**_  
_

  
The road goes ever on and on...  
  
There road goes ever on, Frodo mused aloud of the road before him. Actually, come to think of it, said road was more a path... And now that he thought about it, said path was really nothing more than a beaten trail, if that. Then again, roads actually lead to somewhere, and Frodo knew all too well what he and his company were headed for, even if there was nothing official about their route.  
  
It was just that this journey, with its seemingly endless distance and ever-far away destination, rather reminded him of an old song that Uncle Bilbo would sing on more than one occasion. When Frodo was younger, and the winter's frost was just beginning to bite at the countryside, Bag End would shut out the cold of the encroaching season. Before a roaring fire, Bilbo, settled comfortably in his favourite chair, would either take up a book, finish his tea, or, as Frodo fondly recalled, would sing a song of travels to a world beyond their secure and happy Hobbiton.   
  
There had always been a sort of warm nostalgia feathering from his Uncle's voice and visage as it was sung. Now, Frodo too felt that longing to return to a place he'd once known. But irony was not absent in this current situation. For while Bilbo had sat in his home, restless for adventure, Frodo was now on an adventure of his own, and longed for the Shire.  
  
A sudden clatter brought Frodo back to the real world. Upon hearing his master speak, Samwise had quickened his pace to catch up with Frodo, the pots and pans secured to his pack clanging against one another as he did.  
  
Did you say something Mister Frodo?  
  
Frodo turned as Sam was at his side, favouring his gardener/best friend/loyal and affectionate guardian/all the aforementioned and more with a (supposedly) reassuring smile.   
  
Not a thing, Sam. said he in reply before returning his gaze to the road/path/beaten trail/whathaveyou.  
  
Sam, return nodded once and followed suit. A short distance behind them, Pippin was waffling on about scones, sandwiches and the like, Merry frequenting the conversation with his own input. The leaves crinkled and crunched in protest as they were trodden upon while earth and the occasional protruding tree root worked slowly against the callouses on the Hobbits' feet. The air smelled of late autumn, cool, loamy and a trifle damp. Everything around them seemed alive with anxiety, and yet frigid with fear...  
  
Sam shook his head. Ever since they had begun this wild goose chase' as Sam privately called it (he'd never say that to Gandalf, lest he receive a lengthy sermon) Sam had become frighteningly aware of every little thing around them. From a breath of wind, to the rustle of a leaf nothing failed to feed the mounting tension within him. It was as if leaving the shire meant leaving a sort of sanctuary, like a butterfly emerging from its chrysalis. Saying good-bye to the place he'd called home all his life left him tender and vulnerable inside, like an open wound.  
  
HOY! BUDGE UP, LAD!  
  
Sam was violently shoved forward and out of La-La-Land as Pippin hit him head-on from behind. It was then that he realized that his moment of pondering had slowed his strides and he had fallen a long-ish distance behind Frodo. Muttering an apology to the disgruntled Took, Sam hastened forward.  
  
However, it was not long before paranoia dragged him back into contemplation. Again, the most trivial details tickled and nagged; The sunlight which warmed some places and abandoned others to shadow. The taste of dread that lingered at the base of one's tongue.  
The way the discourse of Merry and Pippin seemed to fade into in the background behind him.   
The dead, brown leaf, lodged haphazardly in Frodo's hair.   
  
Frodo jumped, alarmed as Sam rushed (rather noisily) up to him, What is it, dear Sam? Did you see something?  
  
Sam froze, suddenly regretting what he had done. Frodo was practically carrying Middle Earth on his shoulders and countless more worries congested his mind. The slightest act of indiscretion could fell the quest, and a single step out of line could spell disaster for everyone. Frodo was, to say the least, no little bit strung-up about it all. Sam had lunged forward suddenly, as if some threat was at hand. Sam, in doing this, had scared Frodo. Sam felt like a jerk.  
  
Just a little leaf... He said apologetically, discarding the offender and letting it fall lazily to the ground. As the band of four continued down the trail, Sam couldn't help feeling horribly sheepish. All that trouble over a piddling little leaf! But it had looked like such an intruder, crude and dirty against the fine curls of his master's hair. It had to go. Frodo did have very nice hair. Sam's, Merry's, and Pippin's hair was sandy-brown in colour and unkempt in composure. Quite commonplace for young male hobbits. Frodo's hair, however, was of a rather dark shade, hung in playful curls and was velvety to the touch... Or at least it looked that way. Sam hadn't ever really touched Frodo's hair, aside from the occasional ruffling or pat on the head. Still, the intent behind those actions was to boost morale, not to discover texture.   
  
I should do that some time, Sam thought decidedly, suddenly curious as to what those dark, almost sable locks really felt like. Being a Hobbit, of course it was his nature to be curious, but when something becomes of particular interest to one, the curiosity licks at one's waking mind like a flame. Having to stare at the back of Frodo's head the whole way didn't help much either. Sam sighed inwardly, still a little guilty over having given Frodo a pointless scare, and itchy with curiosity.   
  
Stupid leaf.  
  
**~END**


End file.
